


The Consequences of an Auction

by ImprobableDreams900



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Mind Control, Sorry Not Sorry, but definitely graphic blood, just buckets of it, lot 37, not graphic 'violence', persay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImprobableDreams900/pseuds/ImprobableDreams900
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Carlos back from the desert otherworld, everything should have been perfect. And it might have been, if it hadn't momentarily slipped Carlos' mind that Cecil's actions were entirely at the whim of the owner of Lot 37.</p><p>Written for tumblr user thethespacecoyote's prompt "Carlos indirectly posing harm to Dana and Cecil being summoned to fend off the 'threat.' "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this time to mention that I am not, nor do I know, a medical professional, and apologize humbly for any mistakes in this area.

"Cecil?" Carlos' usual oaky tones were colored with excitement.

Cecil felt himself smile as he leaned back in his chair at the radio station, distancing himself from the microphone. He could distantly hear the violin-heavy strains of the Weather through his headphones, which he had slipped off temporarily so they hung around his neck.

"Yes, perfectly imperfect Carlos?" cooed Cecil sweetly into his cell phone, which had only recently recovered from a bout of suicidal depression that had rendered it almost impossible to use, save for texting sad emoticons and playing the same level of Candy Crush over and over again.

"I'm at the lab, and I was doing some tests— it was all _very_ scientific—and I discovered something I think might help us find out who bought Lot 37!"

Cecil sat up straighter, instantly on alert. "Really? That's great!"

"Well, don't get your hopes up; it might not be anything, but do you want to stop by after the show, just in case?"

"Of course! It's the Weather right now, so I'll be off soon—"

"I know it's the Weather, silly, I'm listening to the show right now!" Carlos' voice had taken on a gently teasing tone. "I liked your translation of the bitternut hickory’s commencement speech, by the way; it was very entertaining."

"It was meant to be informative," Cecil told him, a bit put out.

"It was that, too. Oh! Something just crawled out of one of the beakers, and it's breathing fire all over my samples—I gotta go!"

"Of course! I'll see you in a bit; I love you!"

The phone beeped as Carlos hung up in the middle of Cecil's sentence.

Cecil bit back a worried sigh and set his cell phone down. He pulled himself back up to the microphone and tugged his headphones on as the weather wound down to a close.

"Welcome back, listeners. I hope none of you are having troubles with flame-spewing science experiments..."

 

\---~~~---

 

Carlos had just about finished scrubbing the last of the scorch marks off his lab counters when there was a flurry of noise from the direction of the door.

He hastily threw the rag down and ran a hand through his unruly hair, trying to flatten it a little as Cecil came into view.

Carlos motioned him over to a table near the back, where he had hastily stacked a small pile of neatly labeled slides next to a microscope.

"So I know Dana might have something to do with this Lot 37 stuff, so I decided to do a little research on her, just in case. To rule her out maybe, limit the variables, you know—it's very scientific." Carlos waved a hand around vaguely as he pawed through the slides, looking for one in particular. "And I know it might be a little creepy of me, but I went to visit her after I got back from the desert otherworld—you know that—and when I was using the bathroom an idea just kind of occurred to me, and I kind of...um...took a strand of her hair from her brush, and then I took one of yours—sorry, it was for science—and then it turned out to be lucky that I'd run into Kevin in the desert otherworld—"

"What are you talking about?" Cecil's voice sounded oddly flat, and Carlos hazarded a quick, nervous glance at him. Cecil was standing twenty or so feet away, studying the surface of the scorched table with a detached air. His hand was trailing over the edge of the broken glass box, where Carlos had recently deposited the scorched, broken shards of several of his favorite Erlenmeyer flasks.

"Careful of the glass," Carlos cautioned, turning his gaze back down to the microscope slides he was flicking through. "And, well, the long and short of it is, I examined your and Kevin's hair at a cellular level—because you and Kevin are doubles, right?—and I found some weird differences." Carlos found the slide he was looking for and loaded it into the microscope, turning the knobs and checking the focus. "And then I looked at Dana's hair, right?, and it had all the weird things Kevin's did, and _Cecil_ , I think Dana _is_ her double!"

Carlos looked up at Cecil, beaming. To his surprise, Cecil didn't seem much affected by this news, instead hovering by the edge of the next table over, looking a bit odd.

Something prodded at Carlos' mind, something he had wanted to tell Cecil, something important... His eyes fell on the scorched table.

"Oh!" Carlos smiled and walked over to Cecil, reaching out warmly to put a hand on either shoulder, running his hands down to his boyfriend's elbows. "Sorry for hanging up like that on you earlier," he said, and leaned over to give Cecil a kiss.

Carlos never saw the jagged glass shard clutched in Cecil's hand or felt it break his skin, only felt the sudden hot pain in his abdomen as the shard slipped out, tearing sideways at an angle.

Carlos inhaled sharply, trying to simultaneously cling to Cecil and pull away, uncertain as to where the sudden burning in his side had come from.

Then he tilted his head back and looked at Cecil, actually properly _looked,_ and for the first time saw the complete flatness in his boyfriend's eyes, the blank stare of someone entirely detached from their surroundings. Carlos felt his entire body go cold, though whether it was from dreadful understanding or sudden blood loss, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that his knees were buckling underneath him and all he wanted to do was cling to Cecil, though that was the one thing he knew he could not.

 

\---~~~---

 

Cecil blinked a couple of times and took a confused half-step backwards, trying to get his bearings.

A moment ago he had been entering Carlos' lab, and now he was on the far side of it, standing rather close to a table with a microscope, and there was something flat and smooth in his right hand...

Cecil looked down, but his eyes never made it that far. In front of him, slumped up against the wall of the lab, two bloodied hands pressed to his abdomen, was Carlos.

For a long second Cecil just stared at him in shock, and then he felt all the air abruptly leave his lungs.

"Car _los_?" Cecil's voice was a squeak, trembling in disbelief as he took the three wobbly steps to Carlos' side and sank to his knees.

Carlos' breathing was fast and tight, and his eyelids fluttered as Cecil's trembling fingers brushed his shoulder. "Ce—cil?" he gasped, his eyes struggling to focus. He sounded...hopeful?

"I'm here, I'm here, Carlos. What—" Cecil swallowed his words as he raised his right hand towards Carlos' face and saw the long, jagged glass splinter, covered almost entirely in slick red blood, clutched between his own slender fingers.

Cecil felt his blood turn to ice as the lab lights gleamed accusingly off the shard, giving the blood an almost-beautiful rainbow sheen that turned his stomach. All he could hear were Carlos' ragged gasps for breath, and he knew with absolute certainty what he had done.

"Oh, _gods_." A great towering wave of guilt and horror was crashing down over him, more guilt than he had ever felt in his entire life. He had _stabbed_ his beautiful, perfect Carlos—shed the blood of the one person he would have gladly died to save—betrayed the trust of the person he had hoped so dearly might one day say to him "I do."

Cecil's eyes were locked on the gleaming red shard, and it seemed to him all at once that he had never hated anything more. Seized by a sudden white-hot flare of anger, he half-turned and hurled the shard as far away from him as he could. He heard it shatter somewhere among the lab tables as he turned back to Carlos, his hands shaking. The scientist was trying to gasp out words and hold back tears at the same time. Cecil couldn't bring himself to look Carlos in the eye, afraid of what he might see there. He could only wait for Carlos' certain judgment, wait for his beautiful oaky voice to speak the damning words he knew in his heart were true.

"Not—your—fault," Carlos finally gasped out, his wavering gaze trying to meet Cecil's.

Cecil blinked and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. He didn't understand. He had done this; he had committed this atrocity, Carlos' blood was on _his_ hands; didn't Carlos understand that he _deserved_ to be punished? He felt his head shake in denial.

"Please," Carlos begged, raising a bloodied hand from his abdomen to tug desperately at Cecil's shirt, trying to get his attention. Cecil finally looked up, and the pain and desperation shining plainly in the scientist's eyes broke Cecil's throbbing heart. He reached out for Carlos' face, unable to stop himself, carefully placing a hand on either cheek. He expected Carlos to shrink away, but he didn't. And suddenly he realized that Carlos meant what he said.

"Don't—think—" Carlos gasped brokenly for air, and his hand fell back down from Cecil's chest to his own stomach, where more and more blood was welling up. His legs twitched uncomfortably as he tried to pull them up closer to his chest, but his wavering eyes stayed locked on Cecil's. "Not your—your—fault—" Carlos gave a sudden pained gasp and then all the tension abruptly drained from his face. His eyes slid shut and his head lolled gently to the side, leaning heavily against one of Cecil's hands.

"Carlos? No, no, no, no, gods, Carlos! _Carlos!_ " Cecil felt his insides seize up as he shook Carlos' head between his hands with increasing desperation. All thoughts of his own crime were banished immediately; the only thing that mattered was saving Carlos; it was the only thing that had ever really mattered.

"Help! _Help!_ " Cecil shouted as loudly as he could, glancing over his shoulder towards the front of the building, where he knew at least one Sheriff's Secret Police officer always lurked. "Secret Police! Call an ambulance; Carlos's been—he's—hurt!" Cecil choked on the words, trying to keep from screaming them.

He heard a muffled "Hang on!" and a moment later saw a tree uproot itself and run out of view of one of the windows.

Cecil turned back to his boyfriend, running his hands desperately from his neck down to his chest. Carlos was pale, far paler than he had any business being, and there was blood running onto the floor and soaking into his clothes...so much blood...

Cecil had a sudden flash of intuition and tilted Carlos carefully onto his side and then onto his back, laying him out on the floor. He immediately set about tearing Carlos' shirt open, heedless of ripping the blood-soaked flannel, not stopping until he had reached skin.

There was a long, ragged gash across the left side of Carlos' abdomen, dark and irregular. Cecil couldn't tell how deep it went, but it was slick with blood and more was pouring out every second, drenching Carlos' clothes and running across his dark skin.

Cecil felt himself shaking as he carefully put a hand on either side of the dark gash and pushed his two hands together, trying to compress the wound. Carlos let out a low groan and his head rolled over to the side.

"Carlos? _Carlos?_ " Cecil's voice jumped an octave as his throat closed around his words, but Carlos didn't answer.

Blood was seeping up around Cecil's fingers, soaking his hands already, far, far too much blood...

And suddenly it was the bowling alley all over again, except instead of reading about Carlos' death he was witnessing it. Instead of leaving Carlos' fate in the hands of strangers, it was his hands pressing the sides of Carlos' wound together. And instead of his death being delivered by the inhabitants of a tiny underground city, it had been brought by the hand of a trusted friend. And yet for all the differences, it _was_ exactly the same. The same tight, strangled feeling filling Cecil's chest, the same weight of panic threatening to suffocate him, and the same Carlos bleeding out and struggling to breathe, while he could do nothing to stop it.

Cecil risked a glance over his shoulder, but there was no sign of the Secret Police officer's return.

When he turned back, there a faint tugging at his sleeve. Carlos' eyes were open and, though they were shadowed with pain, his gaze was riveted on the radio host, almost as though he was afraid to look away.

"Cecil," Carlos whispered, the word sounding simultaneously relieved and heartfelt, even through the hitch in his voice.

"Carlos? Don't talk; help's on the way, you're going to be fine, going to be just fine, just— _oh gods!_ " Without warning, Carlos suddenly convulsed violently beneath him, and Cecil's hands slipped. He was covered up to his wrists in blood now, bright red and slippery, and more was gushing out of the dark wound every second, more than it seemed a person could contain.

As the spasm continued, Carlos gasped and gritted his teeth, pressing his head hard against the floor and letting out a clenched, pained groan that brought fresh tears to his eyes.

Finally, Carlos stilled under Cecil's inexpert hands, though he was shaking now and covered in a cold sweat. Cecil was shaking too, and the hands that resumed the compression were nervous and quivering.

Carlos' grip on Cecil's sleeve tightened suddenly, his fingers searching for Cecil's hand, trying to intertwine their fingers. Cecil could tell he wanted to hold his hand, and wanted to let him so badly, but was stopped cold by the dreadful thought that if he lifted his hand from the compression, Carlos might bleed out entirely.

"Ce—cil—" Carlos gasped, his voice choked with pain and tears, though he didn't sound angry in the least. His hand tugged at Cecil's more persistently.

Cecil glanced over at his face, seeing the desperation plain in the scientist's eyes. He was crying freely now, the tears streaking down his cheeks. "I—" Carlos swallowed, but never got to continue, as another convulsion racked his body. Cecil quickly redirected his attention to keeping Carlos pinned down as the series of shudders ran the length of his body. When he had fallen limp again, he was shaking violently, and was paler than ever. More blood bubbled up between Cecil's fingers, this time dark and thick and hot. The sound of an ambulance siren, a combination of the screech of a dying owl and the national anthem being hummed slightly off-key, floated through the open window behind them.

Carlos looked scared now, properly terrified, and his eyes kept flicking back and forth between Cecil and something only he could see. "I—love you," Carlos managed at last, and his words were heavy with the weight of so much more left unsaid. His eyes shifted to look at something through Cecil, and it seemed an enormous effort for Carlos to focus them back on the radio host. Carlos took a deep, shuddering breath that only caused more blood to seep up under Cecil's hands. The scientist's eyes were wells reaching all the way to his soul, two terrifying whirlpools of emotion that just wanted to gaze into Cecil's eyes forever. The radio host could see the depth of terrified emotion behind his next, shuddered word. "Good-bye."

Carlos exhaled shakily and let his head drop back as another spasm rocked his body, weaker this time. His eyes slid shut.

"No, no, no, no, Carlos, you're going to be all right, you're going to be just fine..." Cecil realized he was crying too, his tears shaking his voice and blurring his vision. The screaming and humming of the national anthem was louder now, and he heard the sharp bang of a door being thrown open.

Cecil didn't look around, trying to almost force Carlos' blood back into his body, rambling on, unable to stop his stream of denials, feeling his desperation well up like Carlos' lifeblood between his fingers. Carlos' hand was still lying near Cecil's, limp now but still trying to reach the radio host.

There was a sudden pressure on Cecil's shoulder, and then there were more hands around his own, taking over his compression of Carlos' wound. Someone pulled Carlos' hand away, off to the side. Cecil gasped as someone grabbed him from behind and lifted him up and away from Carlos, his hands slipping away from the dark gash...

Cecil stood shaking, crying and fighting to be free of whomever held him back, sobbing uncontrollably as Carlos was obscured from his sight. After a few moments Carlos was lifted onto a stretcher and rolled past Cecil, and then he was gone. In his place by the wall was an impossibly broad smear of blood, brilliant red against the white tile.

Cecil felt himself being led away, and then there was a sudden burst of bright light and then darkness, and his shaking eyes finally found Carlos again. The world was suddenly small and swaying, and the national anthem was playing very loudly in his head.

After an innumerable number of minutes, he registered that he was sitting in the back of the ambulance. He took slower, deeper breaths, trying to calm himself down, but whenever he got close, he just had to look down at his blood-stained hands, no longer dripping but still stained that incriminating red, for him to remember that Carlos was _dying,_ and there was nothing the scientist could ever say that would make that not his fault.

Several emergency responders Cecil dimly recognized from their day jobs around town were bending over Carlos, their hands a flurry of activity. One was bent over Carlos' head, obscuring everything but the gentle swirls of Carlos' dark curls splaying out onto the stretcher.

Cecil's eyes moved down Carlos' body and fell on the scientist's hand, soaked as red as his own, lying at his side on the stretcher. Cecil stared at it, feeling a momentary break in his sobs. His hand looked so lonely, so alone, and all Cecil could remember was how it had tugged at his sleeve as Carlos lay dying, and how all the scientist had wanted in his last moments was to hold his hand. He had just wanted this final, small piece of comfort, and Cecil had cruelly denied him it.

Cecil descended into fresh tears, but inched as close to Carlos as the paramedics would allow and reached out to grab Carlos' hand. It was cold and sticky with blood, but Cecil only gripped it tighter, hoping that somehow Carlos would be able to feel his presence and know that he had gotten his wish after all.

Not long after, there was a sudden increase in the volume of the national anthem, and the ambulance screeched to a halt as the doors flew open. Cecil felt himself jostled backwards as the paramedics slid Carlos and his stretcher out the back of the van, Carlos' hand torn from his own.

Cecil forced his tears down as he climbed out of the van after them, determined to follow Carlos wherever he went. Someone grabbed his arm, but Cecil shook himself free, sprinting after Carlos' stretcher. The paramedics bounded through a set of doors into Night Vale General Hospital. Cecil hastened after them as they began talking quickly to the doctors meeting them there, briefing them on what had happened. Cecil was so focused on following them, he didn't even bother to stroke the heads of the giant spiders crawling on the ceilings, as was custom.

Two short hallways and a bustle of people later, Carlos was wheeled into an emergency room and jolted to a halt inside the ring of bloodstones set into the floor. Cecil edged into the room after them, standing in a corner and hoping no one would notice him and make him leave.

"Stab wound to the left abdomen, uncertain degree of penetration, severe blood loss, weak and erratic pulse, shallow and quick breathing, patient nonresponsive," rattled off one of the paramedics as a horde of white- and green-suited medical professionals descended around Carlos, messing with tubes and IVs.

"Need an 18-, make it 16-gauge cannula."

"Blood pressure 60 over 30 and dropping."

"Multiple intestinal perforations, needs emergency surgery."

"He's going into severe hypovolemic shock; how much blood did he lose?"

"Heart rate 130 and climbing."

"We think about two liters; must have hit the abdominal aorta."

"There goes his pulse, he needs a blood transfusion NOW."

"What type is he?"

"Don't know. It'll take too long to run the test."

"We need a donor, then, and fast."

"Martinique's on vacation and Clark just called in sick. Sounds like viper tornadoes again—"

"Well then, who—?"

"I'll do it." Cecil's voice sounded small even to his own ears, devoid of its usual richness, yet it still turned every eye.

No one seemed terribly surprised to see him there, but a couple seemed impressed at his offer.

"Are you—" began one, but Cecil cut him off quickly.

"I'm type double-purple O," Cecil explained. "Certified. My blood's compatible with any two-legged humanoid; it should work for Carlos."

A couple doctors exchanged glances, and Cecil could tell they were reluctant to use someone who wasn't one of their professional donors.

"Please," Cecil added, stepping forward and lifting his arms, wrists up. His eyes were locked on Carlos' ashen, bloodless face. "Take it. To save him, please. Take it."

After a long moment, the head doctor nodded. "Good enough for me," he said gruffly, turning back to Carlos. "Someone prep him."

Moments later, Cecil found himself lying down on an elevated table several yards from Carlos, an IV pricking his arm, trying to slow his breathing as the nurse directed him.

Doctors were still flitting around Carlos, and Cecil's eyes kept drifting to the scientist's sallow hand, lying motionless at his side, tangled in his blood-streaked lab coat. He watched the reddish purple line in the thin tube leading from him down to Carlos, watched the blood slowly seep out of his veins and into the scientist's. Cecil took a deep breath and laid his head down on the table, face turned towards Carlos.

Before long Cecil was feeling a bit dizzy, and a faint tingling had come over his fingers and toes. He was cold everywhere and there was a slight pressure on his chest, but he kept his eyes locked on Carlos, praying he wasn't imagining the hint of color blushing over the other man's face.

A couple of minutes later Cecil started feeling seriously light-headed, and also slightly ill. He felt his heart rate pick up as the nurse came up to him and started preparing to take the IV out. "That's enough for you," she said.

Cecil reached up with the arm without the IV and desperately grabbed her wrist. "Please," he begged, looking over at Carlos, still so very pale. "Keep going. Don't stop." He looked back at the nurse, who had bit her lip. "Let me save him, please." He felt a low buzzing circling his head, but stubbornly ignored it. There was only one thing that mattered here. "Take as much as he needs," Cecil said, looking her in the eye as levelly as he could, "and not a drop less." Something in his eyes must have convinced her, because she sighed lightly and nodded.

Cecil slackened his grip as she pulled away, even that small action leaving him feeling incredibly weak. He tilted his head back towards Carlos.

The scientist's first words to Cecil in the lab kept floating back to him—"not your fault." All he could think of was that Carlos' dying breaths had been used to absolve Cecil of blame. It was the single most profound thing anyone had ever done for him, and probably ever would.

He just couldn't comprehend how, in their last seconds, anyone could think about anything but themselves. It was unfathomable that anyone would spend their last breaths thinking of him, of all people, and yet Carlos had now done it twice. It was so unspeakably beautiful and impossible, and it broke his heart to know that anyone would care that it was broken.

So as he lay there, feeling his blood grow sluggish and cold in his veins, he couldn't help thinking that if Carlos needed every drop of blood in his body to live, Cecil would give it gladly.

The last thing he remembered before passing out was trying to reach towards Carlos' hand, wanting to give it the same reassuring squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize that I am, in fact, a horrible person, and apologize must humbly for any distress I may have caused.


	2. Chapter 2

His side ached. It was a dull sort of pain, and Carlos' sluggish mind suggested sedatives as the answer.

Carlos let out a soft groan as he felt himself come to. His head was pounding, and he felt like hammered crap. He was chilled but didn't have the strength to shiver. His chest ached and something cold and smooth was pressed against his hand.

Carlos pried his eyes open and discovered he was lying on his back, facing the ceiling. It was unremarkable as ceilings go, but he was reminded horribly of the ceiling of his lab, which he had been terrified would be the last thing he saw before he died.

But he did not appear to be dead. He turned his head to the side, wincing at the pain. He was lying on a sort of stretcher bed, surrounded by medical equipment. His eyes focused slowly on the Night Vale General Hospital logo on the far wall, which wasn't exactly reassuring. Who knew what passed for medicine in this crazy town?

Carlos racked his brains, trying to remember anything after saying good-bye to Cecil. His mouth twitched a little. He'd lived, evidentially, so maybe that remark had been a little premature, but he was glad he'd said it. He'd been so certain, so incredibly certain of his own impending death, and had wanted to give Cecil some small measure of closure if he could. He remembered Cecil's face, remembered watching his lover's heart breaking before his own eyes, and felt a wave of anxiety rush over him. He remembered reaching for Cecil's hand, trying to squeeze it in reassurance— _But where was Cecil now?_ Carlos thought suddenly, worried. Maybe the City Council had grabbed him—maybe stabbing scientists was illegal—maybe he'd turned himself in; that would be just like Cecil—

Distressed, Carlos flopped his head over to the other side, trying to calm himself, and came face to face with the object of his desires.

Cecil was lying not two feet from him on a stretcher of his own, head turned towards Carlos, eyes closed and mouth parted slightly.

It was only when he took in Cecil's complexion—he was as white as a sheet—that Carlos realized that the smooth cold thing pressed against his palm was Cecil's hand, freezing fingers intertwined with his own.

Carlos felt all the air leave his lungs as he suddenly tightened his grip on Cecil's hand. It was ice cold, and didn't respond when Carlos shook it with all of his admittedly limited strength.

Carlos had thought the most terrified he'd ever be was back in the bowling alley, when he'd felt himself hit the ground, surrounded by the vicious inhabitants of the tiny city under Lane 5. But that had been terror for the thought of all the things he hadn't done, all the opportunities he had missed. And then, as he'd lain dying in his lab, Cecil trying so desperately to save him, he had been terrified for what he _had_ done—because he knew the depths of Cecil's love for him now—saw it every day in the radio host's beautiful smiles and delighted 'good morning's and heard it in his honeyed voice when he spoke about him lovingly on the radio—and he'd seen in the radio host's brilliant purple eyes that Carlos dying was going to break Cecil something bad. He could see all the pain he was about to cause right there in those beautiful irises, and though he didn't regret loving Cecil for one second, for a couple of terrified moments there he had regretted deeply that Cecil loved him quite so much.

But no. The most terrifying feeling in the world, he saw now, wasn't fear of him leaving Cecil, but Cecil leaving _him_.

Carlos felt the air rush back into his lungs in a sharp gasp, and then his heart was beating a mile a minute. His tired brain tried rapidly to process a hundred possible scenarios that could have led to Cecil lying deathly cold beside him, but none were anywhere near acceptable.

"Cecil!" he wheezed, and paused to clear his throat. "Cecil!" Louder this time, and clearer. "Cecil! _Cecil!_ " He shook Cecil's hand as hard as he could, and Cecil's shoulder trembled a little with the motion, but his head remained motionless.

" _Cecil!_ " Carlos was feeling panic now, true and proper panic, and still Cecil wouldn't stir. He realized abruptly that he couldn't tell if Cecil was breathing. "Cecil, Cecil, _God_ , Cecil, wake up, please. Come on, don't be dead, don't be dead—" Carlos' throat closed around his words and he felt tears well up. The first sob racked his chest, and his side immediately blazed white-hot, stealing his breath. He tried reflexively to curl up around himself, but it only made his side burn hotter. Finally, he dropped back onto the bed, gasping, and the fresh tears in his eyes were from the pain.

As soon as he had blinked away the blurriness in his vision, he reached back out for Cecil, more successful this time as his drugged hand navigated its way to Cecil's shoulder.

Carlos shook it, gasping with the pain but determined to not stop until Cecil was awake, until he could look into those beautiful purple eyes and tell him again that he loved him.

Luckily for Carlos' ailing strength, he had shaken Cecil's shoulder for only a couple of seconds before Cecil's head turned upward slightly, eyebrows contracting in discomfort and mouth sliding closed. Carlos' hand immediately fell from Cecil's shoulder back to his side to renew its grip on Cecil's frozen hand, twining their fingers together as he felt Cecil's hand twitch against his.

"Cecil? Cecil?" Carlos said quickly, squeezing his hand to let him know he was there.

Cecil groaned, low and deep in his throat, and his head tilted towards Carlos' voice as his eyes flickered blearily open.

"Cecil? Cecil, honey? Are you okay?"

A cracked smile spread across Cecil's deathly pale face. "Carlos?"

"Yeah, it's me. Are you all right? What happened?"

Cecil's smile faltered and his eyes dropped. He looked ashamed and uncomfortable all at once. "Um, well, you called me, asked me to stop by the lab, and I did, but then it must have been Lot 37—"

"No, no, I mean, what happened to _you?_ "

Cecil's eyes flickered back up to meet his, surprised. "You were dying," he said, as though it was obvious. "Too much blood loss." He squeezed Carlos' hand, fingers still freezing, and gave him a shy smile.

Carlos waited for Cecil to continue his explanation, but nothing further seemed forthcoming. "And...?" he prompted at last.

Cecil gave him a puzzled look. "And I was type O, so I gave you some of mine."

Carlos stared at him, suddenly recognizing Cecil's cold and pale skin for what it was. He remembered all the blood he had lost, remembered the feeling of it all dripping down his sides as all his body heat was leached from him, worse than being dunked in ice water. He had lost far too much blood to live; he knew that.

He pulled away from Cecil's hand in horror.  "You _what?_ "

Cecil's smile faltered. "I was the donor for your transfusion. The regular guys weren't available, and there was no time to waste. I'm sorry... But you were..." His hand snaked back towards Carlos', trailing along his wrist, uncertain if it was welcome. "You were dying, Carlos." Carlos saw Cecil's eyes begin to water and immediately felt bad. He gripped Cecil's hand, which seemed to help a little.

"Well, I'm okay now, so I guess I should thank you," Carlos said grudgingly, and was inordinately pleased when that teased a smile out of his boyfriend. "But, I mean, what about blood banks?"

Cecil's smile grew confused. "What?"

"You know, blood banks. People donate blood in advance, and hospitals keep it around for when people like me need transfusions. You know, the Red Cross and stuff."

Cecil tilted his head, his expression clearly indicating he thought Carlos might have lost a few brain cells. "What?" he said at last.

Carlos explained it again, in more detail this time, but Cecil still looked incredibly skeptical. "But that's dangerous!" he protested.

"Not if you only give a little; it's perfectly safe," Carlos assured him, but Cecil was shaking his head.

"No, no, I mean, it's dangerous leaving blood just _sitting around_ outside of people like that without first pledging it to a supernatural being, deity, or municipal entity," Cecil protested, starting to look a little distressed at the thought. Carlos was just incredibly relieved that all this talking had put a little flush back into Cecil's cheeks.

Cecil continued to ramble on about unclaimed blood turning into Portuguese-speaking demonic spiders, but Carlos cut him off by leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the lips, ignoring the angry throbbing in his side at the movement.

"I love you," Carlos said softly as he pulled back a little, squeezing Cecil's hand.

Cecil smiled and squeezed Carlos' hand back. "I love you too."

Carlos let himself fall back into his bed, feeling volumes better than when he had awoken. He ran his thumb lightly over the back of Cecil's hand, still cold against his. Now that his mind was working again, he felt the scientist in him revive. His eyes roamed over Cecil critically, looking for any other injuries, and allowed himself a small frown. "And what—they don't even give you blankets around here?" he asked.

Cecil shook his head, looking a little downcast himself. "Outlawed," he said ruefully. "They can be used to hide malicious books, knives, and pestilence frogs."

"Pestilence frogs?" Carlos repeated skeptically.

Cecil nodded earnestly. "They're very dangerous."

Carlos nodded, mostly to himself. Ignoring the pain in his side, he wriggled around on the bed until he was closer to Cecil, still stroking the back of the radio host's hand with his thumb. "Well," he said in a low, conspiratorial tone as soon as his and Cecil's heads were close, "as soon as I can walk, we're getting out of here," _and_ _before they kill us somehow_ , Carlos added silently to himself. "And we're going back to our place, and we're going to find all the blankets we've got, and I'm going to make us both some soup and we're going to get you nice and warmed up and toasty, okay?" He saw Cecil's worried look. "And I don't care how illegal it is," he added before Cecil could protest, though he wasn't sure what part of his plan stepped on municipal toes.

Cecil smiled a little at his declaration, though Carlos could tell he was getting tired.

"But in the meantime," Carlos said, pleased with the idea that had just popped into his head, "how about you come over here and I help warm you up?" He patted the bed with the hand entwined with Cecil's.

Cecil looked a little surprised at the offer. "But you need to recover," he protested. "You can't afford to be losing body heat."

Carlos shrugged, trying to look healthier than he felt. His side still throbbed with every breath. "You couldn't afford to be giving away blood like that, but you did it anyway," he pointed out.

Cecil seemed to have no good response for that one, and Carlos shifted himself to the far side of the bed triumphantly, momentarily letting go of Cecil's hand as he did so and trying not to wince at the sharp burning in his abdomen. He patted the bed encouragingly.

Cecil still looked uncertain, but he must have been too tired to argue, because he started trying to pull himself across the narrow gap between the beds.

Carlos helped, and after a few awkward moments Cecil was lying squashed in the narrow hospital bed with him, facing away.

Carlos wrapped his arms around the slimmer man, hugging him as tightly as he could. Cecil was even colder up close than he had seemed, and now that he was nearer, Carlos could see that he was shivering, just a little, all over his body. His shoulders were tense as well, and Carlos tried to soothe him by rubbing his hands up and down Cecil's arms, trying to get friction on his side, but even that motion soon tired him. He settled for twining his fingers with Cecil's and pulling their linked hands up to the radio host's chest so Carlos' arms folded comfortably around him.

Cecil was quiet for a long time, and Carlos was starting to drift off pleasantly when he heard Cecil's voice, soft and uncertain.

"I'm sorry for stabbing you."

Carlos gripped his hand more strongly in reassurance. "It's okay," he said just as softly. "I know it wasn't you; not really."

He heard Cecil sniffle a little, and realized the radio host was crying, and it sounded like he had been for a while.

"Cecil? What's the matter, sweetie?"

He felt Cecil's hands tighten around his as he began to cry louder, shoulders shaking.

Carlos, a little at a loss, shushed him gently as Cecil squirmed next to him. The radio host succeeded in rolling over in the narrow space between Carlos and the bed rail.

The scientist only got a brief look at Cecil's tear-streaked face before Cecil buried his face in Carlos' chest, sobbing and clutching at his white hospital-issued shirt.

Carlos had no idea what had upset Cecil so much, but wound his arms around him and held him tight nonetheless, rubbing his freezing back and frowning at how cold even Cecil's head felt against his chest.

Carlos moved a hand up to ruffle the radio host's hair, murmuring soft reassurances until he felt Cecil's shaking subside a little. Finally he pulled his head back and looked up at Carlos' puzzled smile through teary eyes.

"Oh, Carlos," he managed at last, and tilted his forehead back onto Carlos' chest. "Thank you for being so perfectly imperfect,” he said tearfully, “and thank you for being my boyfriend even though I'm such a mess—” he broke off to give a shuddering, broken sob—“and thank you so very, _very_ much—” another sob—“for loving me even though I don't deserve it." This declaration was made largely to Carlos' collar.

"Oh, you deserve it, Cecil," Carlos told him honestly, pulling him closer and rubbing his back soothingly. "You'll always deserve it."

Cecil broke into fresh sobs and clung to Carlos more tightly.

"Even after—I _stabbed_ you!"

Carlos allowed himself a wry smile. "Nah. And that was really my fault, anyway," he admitted. "I should have known better, should have noticed..."

Cecil sniffed into his shoulder and it looked like he was calming down a little. "What was it you wanted to show me?" he asked after a moment.

Carlos shrugged. "Nothing important really, and I don't think it's even connected to Dana or Lot 37 anymore." Carlos watched Cecil carefully for any change, but he continued sniffling quietly into his shoulder. The truth was that he didn't know if it was connected, but he didn't have a death wish and decided that, if Lot 37 was somehow tied up with Dana, it was something he'd have to keep Cecil out of the loop on. He didn't like lying to Cecil one bit, but he thought Cecil would dislike stabbing him again as much as he did getting stabbed.

"Okay," Cecil sniffed, and settled himself more comfortably against Carlos. Suddenly Carlos realized that the tension had leaked out of Cecil's shoulders and he had stopped shivering.

Cecil tilted his head up and carefully pulled Carlos down into a kiss.

It was sweet and Cecil tasted a little salty from his tears, but it seemed to Carlos leagues better than the very one-sided affair in the lab had been.

Eventually Cecil pulled away and just gazed up at him, and he saw love and maybe something like wonder in his eyes.

"I'm just so glad you're all right," Cecil said, stroking a hand gently down Carlos' lapels.

"I'm glad you're all right too," Carlos said, planting a chaste kiss on Cecil's forehead.

Cecil relaxed back into Carlos' arms, and suddenly Carlos was reminded of just how exhausted Cecil looked.

"How about you get some sleep, honey?" Carlos said softly, stroking a hand through Cecil's hair.

Cecil nodded sleepily, his eyelids already growing heavy as he settled into a more comfortable position. His chilly fingers wound themselves into Carlos' spare hand and brought their linked hands up to his chest, over his heart. The radio host made a small sound of contentment as his eyes slid shut. "Goodnight, Carlos," he mumbled, a smile twitching at his lips.

"Goodnight, Cecil," Carlos replied fondly, ruffling the radio host's hair, but he was already sound asleep.

Carlos let his head drop back down to the pillow, feeling exhausted himself. He was still alive, miracle of miracles, and Cecil was curled up next to him, clutching his hand like it was the whole world to him.

Studying Cecil's pale face, he wondered yet again just how much blood Cecil had given him. Carlos had donated blood several times in high school and college, and he'd never seen anyone so pale or shaky, especially this long afterwards. He remembered feeling his own blood surging between his fingers, and thinking that there was no way he was going to live through this.

And he remembered Cecil, compressing the wound and trying so desperately to save him when Carlos believed himself beyond help. He remembered reaching for Cecil's hand, trying to reassure him, wanting to tell him that it was going to be okay, and not to cry, and to stop pressing on the wound, because it hurt so very, _very_ much and he was a goner anyway. After the second spasm, hazy gray blotches had begun forming across his vision, and he'd known he only had seconds left; he was barely holding onto consciousness as it was. So he'd told Cecil the most honest and important truth he knew—"I love you,"—and then the one thing he knew Cecil would need to hear the most, for closure—"Good-bye."

He'd wanted to reassure Cecil first and foremost, to make sure he would be okay when he was gone, but Cecil hadn't wanted to be reassured. He had ignored Carlos' desperate attempts to hold his hand, to pull it away from his wound and to let it all end. Cecil had ignored him because he didn't want reassurances, he wanted _Carlos_. And it was because of Cecil that he was still alive now, breathing shaky breaths and stroking Cecil's hair, and for that he was incredibly grateful. He'd seen the end coming, and the worst thing about it, he'd thought, was that he wouldn't be able to spend any more time with Cecil. And now he had been given back those years, and now every time he kissed Cecil or squeezed his hand or stroked his hair it was a beautiful gift—a million new opportunities he had been so close to losing forever.

So he pulled Cecil a little tighter, and stroked his hair a little softer, and squeezed his hand a little gentler whenever Cecil's fingers twitched against his in his sleep, and planted gentle little kisses on his nose and forehead and cheeks until he was simply too exhausted to go on.

And then he wrapped himself more fully around the radio host so he wouldn't get too cold, and felt himself drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The last thing he registered was Cecil's hand curled around his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome! :)


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